The Citadel

Chapter 13
Disaster

Serene sat on the edge of her lavish bed, feeling more confused than she ever had in her entire life. Everything had seemed so simple when she, a woodsman’s daughter, had suddenly been offered the role of cleric by the old woman who had for years taught her the ways of the wild. Serene had known of the old gods from her parents, still worshipers of the Bard King despite his absence from Krynn for centuries, but like most had assumed that they and the true clerics would never return. She had accepted the offer, never once since questioning her choice.

She had traveled much of Ansalon during her first few months, then settled in the forest where her family had lived for generations, rarely seeing other people unless they happened to pass through. Her devotion to her calling had helped her with her solitude, guided her through her relationship with Valkyn, then aided her in her search for answers afterward. No matter what had happened, Serene had always had her link to her god.

Now it seemed Valkyn had taken that away.

When she touched her medallion and tried to concentrate, she nearly blacked out. Unlike Tyros, Serene never felt any pain; she simply lost consciousness. A sign of Valkyn’s lingering devotion, perhaps, the cleric thought sourly.

Even thinking about Branchala made her light-headed. Serene had always admired Valkyn’s skill at his craft, but never once had she thought that those powers would be turned against her.

The gargoyles had left her alone once they had seen her to her chamber. Now was Serene’s chance to accomplish something. Tyros and the others needed her. They didn’t know Valkyn as she did, although even she had to admit he remained largely an enigma. The man Serene had loved did not exist, possibly never had. Still, the cleric felt she had the best hope of understanding Valkyn’s mind and using it to her advantage.

She clutched the medallion, at the same time taking a deep breath to help prevent her from collapsing.

“Branchala,” Serene whispered, thinking of Valkyn’s powerful magic and what it might do if left unchecked. “Branchala, hear me! Guide my strength again as you’ve done in the past. Branchala …”

The room spun around. Serene tried to rise, but at that moment, the floor chose to do the same.

She fell, only at the last minute managing to twist enough to keep from falling to the hard floor. The cleric landed on the bed. The room continued to spin about.

“Branchala …” Serene managed to whisper. She would not black out. She would not!

It seemed the dizziness would never end, but at last the cleric found she could think again … but not if those thoughts turned to her god.

“Damn you, Valkyn!” Serene had failed Tyros and the others, failed herself and her god as well. Still, at least this time she had kept herself from blacking out.

A tiny victory, though. Perhaps, given time, she could break his powerful spell, but time was something of which Serene had very little. Gwynned’s doom lay but a few hours away, and Tyros’s fate even less. Bakal and Rapp might already be dead.

The cleric clutched her medallion, feeling impotent. Without her god, though, what could she do … even for herself?

* * * * *

It had been years since Tyros had done anything of consequence without the benefit of magic to make the task easier. At this moment, he would have given nearly everything to regain his abilities. Tyros felt no shame at such thoughts; to wizards, magic meant life. The only things that concerned him more at the moment were the fates of his companions, Serene most of all.

He could only imagine the mental torment she suffered. Tyros had been tempted to go searching for her first, rather than seeking the heart of the citadel. In the end, though, he had known that everyone’s best hope, the cleric’s included, rode on his sabotage of Valkyn’s sinister toy.

Tyros went over Stone’s instructions. Stone had given him a fairly detailed description as to how to get to Valkyn’s sanctum. The gargoyle had wanted no mistakes made, emphasizing how much this meant to his flock.

That did not mean that all gargoyles could be considered friends. Stone had warned him about Crag’s people. They would serve the master no matter what, reveling in the chaos and bloodshed he brought forth. Crag especially sought the good favor of Valkyn, thinking that it would make him look even stronger in the eyes of the other gargoyles.

A slight clink of metal made Tyros curse. He had done the unthinkable, the unforgivable. In his left hand he carried the sword of the Solamnic Knight. Mages were forbidden such weapons. All the covenants spelled this out in black and white.

Tyros didn’t care. He had wanted-no, needed-that sword, oaths and laws be damned.

He started down a new corridor, then immediately backtracked. Pressing against the nearest wall, Tyros held his breath as a large gargoyle stalked past. The powerless mage remained frozen, uncertain whether even with the sword he could kill the monster before it tore him to pieces.

Fortunately the gargoyle, clearly not one of Stone’s folk, continued on. When at last the monster had vanished down the hall, Tyros hurried on his own way. If Stone’s directions held true, the wizard couldn’t be far from the chamber where Valkyn kept his horrific device.

Sure enough, he came across the doors but a few minutes later. Although Tyros’s own memories of this area consisted mostly of the chamber’s interior, he knew that this had to be the place he sought. Not only did it fit with the gargoyle’s directions, but even from out here Tyros could sense the awesome power within the chamber.

No guards stood at the doors, but that didn’t mean that none waited inside. Still, from what Tyros knew of his counterpart, Valkyn’s arrogance might lead the black mage to believe that nothing could harm him from within his own abode. Cautiously the mage crept to the entrance, sword ready. Tyros touched one door gingerly, then with more force when no spell attacked him.

The door swung open with a loud squeak.

Gritting his teeth, he leaped inside, the sword wobbling in his grip. Tyros had assumed correctly; in the center of the great chamber stood the massive marble columns with the huge golden crystals, from which pulsated pure magical energy. Here stood Valkyn’s infernal marvel, the secret not only to keeping Atriun afloat, but also to powering the deadly storm surrounding the citadel.

And here also hung what remained of Leot.

Head throbbing slightly, Tyros started for the columns with the intention of cutting his friend free, only to pause halfway there and look uneasily to his side. Not one but four of the ghostly servants of Valkyn stood nearby, staring in his direction.

Turning his weapon toward the nearest, Tyros waited for them to attack. Yet not one so much as raised a bony hand toward him. When Tyros moved, he saw that they continued to look past his prior position. The servants stood as if statues, their will nonexistent without Valkyn to guide them.

Breathing a little easier, the crimson-clad mage made his way to the columns. He lowered the sword to the ground, then moved closer to the still figure.

“Leot …” Tyros cupped the other wizard’s head in one hand. Up close, the damage the spell work had wrought on the white-robed spellcaster looked even more terrible. Little flesh remained on the man; Leot looked as if he had died long ago. His hair had turned pale, and the robes draped over him, now several sizes too large for what had once been a massive frame. “Leot?”

No response. Valkyn’s hellish mechanism had burned away all that had been the once cheerful mage.

In some ways it made Tyros’s task a little easier. With no need to worry about Leot, he could press ahead with what he truly needed to do. Taking hold of one of the manacles, he inspected the lock. Without magic, Tyros needed either a key or a way to smash it open. He looked around, deciding at last to inspect the several large tables and benches where the dark wizard evidently kept much of his equipment. Perhaps there he would find a key.

Moving closer, he quickly looked over various objects, trying not to think of their possible uses. Each time he did, his head throbbed, throwing his concentration off. Nothing on the first tables he surveyed resembled a key, but surely Valkyn had to have one somewhere in case of emergency.

Tyros surveyed the entire chamber again. At last his eyes alighted on a ring on the far side of the room. Two keys hung from the ring, which had been looped around a knob in the wall. Could it be so simple? Tyros shook his head and started for the keys. He had to try them.

The keys were in good condition, not rusted as they might have been if left over from the days of the castle’s initial construction. Surely these were the ones Tyros sought.

He had taken only a few steps back when he realized that the shadow servants had begun to close on him.

Three were nearly upon him, the fourth still several steps behind. Taking the keys had done it. Until then they hadn’t seen Tyros as a threat. Now, though, he endangered their master’s work. How terrible, Tyros thought, that these victims of Valkyn’s evil would now defend his monstrous device.

Tyros threw himself toward the columns just as pale, bony hands groped for him. He slid against one column, hitting his shoulder then colliding with the sword. Desperate, Tyros seized the blade and rose just as the first of the servants came at him. More out of luck than any hint of skill, the wizard shoved the tip of the blade into the torso of the murky figure.

With a raspy gasp, the cloaked form fell to the floor. Tyros stared at the black, thick substance dripping from his sword, momentarily feeling sick to his stomach.

One of the other ghouls seized his right arm. Tyros brought the sword’s edge down on the elbow of his attacker and watched in shock as the blade cut through, leaving the lower part of the limb still clutching him. Undaunted, the servant tried to grapple with his remaining hand.

Tyros managed to bring the sword across his foe’s neck. Black fluid, akin to molasses, dripped from the creature’s throat, some of it spattering Tyros. At last the shadow servant collapsed, still trying to maintain a hold on him.

Tyros shook off the limb still attached to him, then backed to the columns. He had been lucky so far, but the remaining pair would surely not fall so easy. Measuring the gap still between the hooded figures and him, the mage worked anxiously to unlock the manacles that held Leot’s feet.

His head throbbed dangerously as he worked, for Tyros couldn’t help thinking about what he hoped to accomplish. Leot was part of the mechanism. Without him, surely it couldn’t function properly. Valkyn’s spell would cease. All Tyros had to do was free the white mage’s body and remove it from the area of the columns.

Or so he hoped.

Finished with the lower manacles, the red wizard finally undid one wrist. Tyros caught Leot’s limp form as it tipped to the side. The energy passing between the two huge crystalline spheres seemed to lessen. Tyros tried pulling the corpse out from between the columns but couldn’t. He would have to undo the last manacle.

Caught up in his efforts, Tyros miscalculated the time he had remaining. He realized too late that one of Valkyn’s horrific minions had reached him. The macabre figure seized the hand that held the keys, turning the mage about. Tyros tried to attack, but the hooded ghoul knocked his sword away. As they struggled, the pair twisted around in front of the columns, Tyros’s situation quickly becoming more desperate. He tried to push the shadow servant into one of the marble columns, but the creature was too powerful.

Then a white arm wearing the remnants of a pale garment fell forward, wrapping around the shadow servant’s neck and pulling Tyros’s attacker back. Caught by surprise, the servant released his hold. Tyros stepped back, staring in shock as Leot held the guard tight, his arm squeezing. His friend stared sightlessly ahead, only the whites of his eyes showing. The drawn, wrinkled face bore no expression. Nothing indicated that anything of Leot remained, and yet Tyros could find no explanation as to why the seemingly limp corpse had moved to save him. Perhaps Tyros had just been fortunate. Leot’s reaction might have been the same if he had come too close.

And yet …

He had no more time in which to ponder his second rescue by the White Robe, for the last of the guards still sought him. Encouraged by what had happened, Tyros retrieved the Solamnic Knight’s blade and charged, thrusting with all his might. The hooded servant caught the blade with his pale hands, but momentum kept it going. Tyros pushed the blade into his adversary’s chest up to the hilt.

His foe dropped, trapping the sword in death. At the same time, Tyros heard a harsh cracking sound from behind him. He quickly turned, thinking the last of the shadow servants had freed himself, only to watch the ghoul slump, his neck broken by Leot.

Leot, too, slumped, as if this last effort had used up whatever hint of life remained. Tyros rushed to the other mage’s side, undoing the last of the manacles. He dragged Leot free, noticing only peripherally that the energy flowing between the columns had completely ceased. The spheres still glowed, but with less intensity than before. Still, the link had obviously been broken.

Not at all concerned at the moment with the consequences of what he had wrought, Tyros turned Leot over. The other wizard continued to stare without seeing. His chest did not rise and Tyros could feel no pulse.

“Leot? Can you hear me at all?” He knew the answer already but prayed he might be wrong. “Leot …”

The figure in white exhaled. The eyelids fluttered closed.

Tyros wished that he could bury or burn Leot’s body in order to keep it from any foul use Valkyn might think of. Yet the frustrated mage could do nothing for his friend now, especially considering that others still needed his aid.

With much reluctance, Tyros abandoned Leot in order to inspect the columns. The spheres glowed dimmer, but so far nothing else had changed. He had expected the citadel to continue to fly for a time, assuming that its creator would have thought of such a need. Even though Tyros despised the other mage’s handiwork, he had to admit that Valkyn had performed wonders.

One question of great importance remained for the red mage to answer. Now that he had disrupted the source of Valkyn’s great power, had he regained his own ability to cast spells? Tyros’s head throbbed, but that could be the results of his earlier efforts.

Tyros began to mutter the basic words to create an illusion of fire … and nearly fell to the floor as raging pain filled his head. Only by forcing himself instead to think of other matters-Serene’s safety, Bakal’s dangerous trek-did he keep from losing consciousness.

So Valkyn’s curse held, although it seemed weaker. Still, if Tyros couldn’t perform spells, that weakness hardly mattered. His only hope lay in Serene, who, as a cleric, might be able to overcome Valkyn’s sinister curse with a prayer to her god.

The sword remained embedded in the shadow servant’s chest. A search of the chamber revealed nothing worthwhile until the mage discovered what seemed to be another wizard’s staff, left almost without thought against the edge of one of the tables. Tyros hefted it, pleased to have the weapon but wondering if it would serve him. He didn’t have time to study what spells had been imbued in it, much less if they would work for him. Nevertheless, the unknown staff gave him something of a chance.

Weapon in hand, Tyros finally left the chamber. No one waited in the halls. Tyros listened but heard no sounds of alarm. Captain Bakal had not yet made his move, then.

The mage continued on, certain that at any moment he would confront a foe. Yet after several anxious minutes, he had seen only two gargoyles, and both of those were perched outside a window, their attention fixed on something beyond his view. Tyros hurried away from them, not caring what interested them as long as it kept the pair from noticing him.

He again followed Stone’s directions. The gargoyle hadn’t been absolutely certain which quarters Serene had been given, but he had believed that Valkyn would only assign her to one of two. Much to Tyros’s relief, both chambers lay near one another, which meant he wouldn’t have to search an entire section of the immense castle.

His good fortune seemed to end at last at the intersection of two wide corridors. There a figure shrouded in dark robes stepped around the corner just as he came from the other direction. Tyros managed to fall back immediately but felt certain that he had been discovered. Thinking quickly, the powerless spellcaster slipped into a nearby alcove, then waited, with staff ready, for the shadow servant to come.

A minute passed, then another, and still no one came.

Peering out, Tyros saw nothing. Curious, he returned to the intersection. A quick glance revealed no evidence of the shadow’s passing. The macabre figure had simply vanished.

With some trepidation, he moved on again. Moments later Tyros came upon a staircase that Stone had described, one that led not only up to where Valkyn kept Serene but also to the dark mage’s own private chambers. Gripping the staff tighter, Tyros ascended.

He reached the top undetected, but now the mage risked an encounter with Valkyn himself, and that forced him to move slowly, eyes ever shifting back and forth. He had been fortunate so far, but in addition to the possible presence of the black mage, Stone had warned him that a guard might stand duty outside of Serene’s chambers. Valkyn didn’t even trust the woman he had once loved.

Sure enough, down the hall where he had expected to find Serene’s chambers stood a huge brown gargoyle. The creature didn’t look at all pleased with his task. He watched the hall with fiery eyes, ready to pounce on any who did not have the master’s permission to pass this way.

Tyros remained out of sight around a corner, wondering what to do. He had originally assumed that disrupting Valkyn’s grand device would give him back his powers, but that hadn’t been the case. He could try using the magic of the staff, but he didn’t know whether the spells would work or if doing so might trigger Valkyn’s curse, leaving him at the mercy of the gargoyle.

That left his physical skill with the staff. While many mages soon forgot the lessons of hand-to-hand combat they had learned as apprentices, Tyros remembered his. Whether those lessons would work against such a creature, though …

Taking a deep breath, Tyros started around the corner again.

The warning cries of a host of gargoyles suddenly echoed through the citadel. The guard turned away from Tyros, peering toward the nearest window. Seizing the opportunity, Tyros raced toward him, staff held high. The cries of the other gargoyles continued to reverberate through the corridor, drowning out his footfalls.

At the last moment, the massive creature started to turn back. Tyros brought the tip of his weapon forward, slamming it into one of the monster’s most sensitive regions, his throat.

He had hoped at best to stun the leathery beast, having assumed that with such a tough hide even the throat would be well protected, but to Tyros’s astonishment, the great monster fell to his knees, choking. The mage immediately swung the staff with all his might, bringing it across the stricken gargoyle’s face.

The monster collapsed, motionless, at the mage’s feet.

Certain that he faced some trick, Tyros stood over the creature, tempted to bring down his weapon again. Taking a breath, the untrusting spellcaster finally prodded his foe. The monstrous guard remained prone.

More confident now, Tyros turned to the door. With a guard stationed, surely Valkyn had cast no spell to keep the door protected. Still, as a precaution, Tyros touched the handle with the tip of the staff. When nothing happened, he tried the door and not only found it unenchanted but unlocked as well.

Staff before him, he slipped into the room. “Serene!”

At first he thought he had guessed wrong, that Valkyn had set the gargoyle to watch this chamber for some other reason, but then the cleric came running from the direction of the balcony, eyes wide in both surprise and concern.

“Tyros! It’s you! Are you mad? Don’t you realize what you’ve done?”

Caught by surprise, the mage managed to blurt, “Come to rescue you, of course! Listen to me. I’m still under Valkyn’s spell, but you might have a chance to remove it. We need to-”

“Tyros, I can’t help you!”

He noticed something strange in her expression. Had he been wrong? Had Serene returned to the arms of her former love?

She read his expression. “No, it’s not that. Never! I can’t help you because Valkyn’s put me under a spell!”

“But you’re a cleric. You commune directly with Branchala. Valkyn’s power cannot be that strong, unless your faith has been weakened because of the past you two share.”

She might have answered him, but the renewed cries of the gargoyles outside caught the attention of them both. Tyros raced to the balcony.

Bright sunlight momentarily blinded him. As his eyes adjusted, the crimson-clad mage realized that he hadn’t seen the sun since the party had arrived at Castle Atriun. Gazing up, Tyros noted that not only had the sun broken through, but that most of the cloud cover had, in fact, dissipated.

A time when the clouds will thin …

“Come on, Bakal!” Tyros muttered. “You have to hurry!”

“Bakal?” Serene joined him, looking confused. “They’re not acting up because of Bakal! Don’t you see what’s out there?”

Going to the rail, Tyros searched the sky, looking for a reason that would draw the attention of every gargoyle in sight.

He found not one reason but two … and both were black dragons.

Someone else had apparently taken advantage of his handiwork, someone with an entirely different agenda. On the back of each behemoth rode at least five men, all but one armored. The other looked to be a mage of the Black Robes.

Twin black dragons meant General Cadrio, yet somehow Tyros doubted that the general had come to confer with his supposed ally. No, from what Tyros already knew of Valkyn and the sinister manner in which the dragons raced toward the castle, Cadrio had not come to visit but to conquer.

The dragons circled the citadel, then quickly dived toward the courtyard. Tyros saw tiny figures leap off the moment one of the leviathans landed, then the beast returned to the air.

Airborne gargoyles hovered about the heads of the dragons, trying to harass the invaders. One of the dragons unleashed a spray of acid, forcing the gargoyles to retreat. The two leviathans turned in opposite directions and then flew upward.

One apparently grazed the tower above as it departed. Bits of mortar and rock began to rain down on the balcony.

Tyros pulled Serene back inside. “Bakal and Rapp were supposed to head up there. I hope nothing’s happened to them.”

“They’re likely prisoners at this point,” a blithe voice answered, “or they may be dead.”

Valkyn stood at the doorway, wand held in his left hand like a sword. It still glowed, however faintly.

The smile that Tyros had come to loathe spread as Valkyn went on. “I am as prepared for their mischief as I am for the dear general’s. I fear General Marcus Cadrio has been a terrible disappointment. I expected him to at least wait until Gwynned lay in ruins before trying once more to end our alliance. Well, I forgave him once, but his usefulness is at an end. His forces will still march on Gwynned, but under my command. Of course, I only need them to be on the field. Nothing else matters after that.”

“And why is that?” Tyros had to ask.

“Because that will draw out Gwynned’s forces, and I can then study the full effect of my creation in an actual battle. Norwych was interesting but far too easy a target. To fully understand the potential of Atriun, I need Gwynned.”

Tyros’s eyes flickered to the wand, which seemed dimmer. He tried to stall Valkyn. “And then what happens? You conquer the rest of the world, Valkyn? Become the new emperor?”

The goateed spellcaster smirked. “I suppose I’ll have to carve out some kingdom of my own, if only to allow myself the freedom for my experiments. I already have the plans in motion to create more citadels such as this one, citadels that, with a bit of work, will make even Atriun seem clumsy and pathetic.”

Tyros recalled Leot. “But you will need more wizards, won’t you? Your foul device can’t function without them.”

“Very good. Almost correct, just as you were almost correct in assuming that without your friend chained to it, Castle Atriun would lose its abilities.”

The crystal on the wand had definitely grown dimmer. Tyros gripped his staff, ready to charge. Valkyn still no doubt had magic of his own, but how powerful would he be without his toy?

“As you and others have already noted, Atriun is weakening, but it’s hardly ready to plummet to the earth.” Valkyn held up the wand, the crystalline sphere suddenly ablaze. He chuckled at Tyros’s disconcerted expression. “I’ve cast the spells so that the castle itself stores some of the magic, giving me a reserve.” The sinister smile grew wide. “And once you’re chained in your friend’s place, I shall be able to draw more power than ever.”

He pointed the wand at Tyros.

In desperation, Tyros raised the staff, already feeling his skin tingle. To his surprise, however, the tingling ceased and the piece of wood in his hands began to glow slightly of its own accord.

For one of the few times the crimson mage could recall, Valkyn frowned. “You found that staff in my sanctum, didn’t you? Here I thought you’d managed to retrieve your own pathetic staff.” The elder wizard shrugged. “A temporary measure at best.”

“Stop this!” Serene ran between them. “Valkyn, if you ever loved me, don’t harm him!”

The dark mage pursed his lips. His brow furrowed. “No, I don’t think so.”

Valkyn gave the wand a turn. Tyros felt the floor beneath him dissolve. His legs sank down to his knees.

Tyros brought Valkyn’s staff down on the floor, trying to use the magical artifact to pull himself up. Instead, the staff sparked and the floor partially solidified, enabling the younger spellcaster to push himself free.

His head began to throb. Even the use of the staff’s magical properties activated Valkyn’s dark curse.

Serene seized the older wizard by the arms. “Don’t do this!”

“I’m tired of your begging, my sweet serenity,” Valkyn said, almost sadly, “and since it seems that’s all you can do now, you should go elsewhere.”

The cleric vanished, her mouth still open in protest.

“What did you do to her?” Rage drove Tyros. Had Valkyn killed Serene?

“She’s in another, more secure chamber, where she can mull over her indiscretions. Now, shall we put an end to this?”

Valkyn reached out with one gloved hand, fingers spread wide. He began to make a fist, and as he did, bonds of pure shadow formed around Tyros, squeezing him as if he stood in his foe’s palm.

The embattled wizard raised the staff, touching it to the shadowy fingers. This time, though, Valkyn’s tool did not save Tyros. Instead, the staff fell from his constricted grip, clattering to the floor. Tyros could barely breathe.

“Much better,” murmured the ebony-clad figure. Blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “It might have been interesting to see what you would have done against me if not for my spell.”

“You like experiments. Find out!”

The castle shook. Valkyn spread his arms. “Alas, we have no time. Cadrio is making himself something of a nuisance, and I have an army to take control of.” The smile came again. “And you must now take on the role I’ve reserved for you, since as I understand it now, you escaped my gargoyles in Gwynned. Time, Tyros, to take your friend Leot’s place. I trust you’ll last a little longer.…”

* * * * *

The clouds had thinned.

“Stand ready!” Captain Bakal ordered. This had to be the moment on which the gargoyle had been harping all this time. If Stone’s explanation made sense, then Tyros had accomplished at least some of his work, and now Bakal and his men had to begin their part.

Stone had guided them to the stairs that led to the Wind Captain’s Chair but had left it in the humans’ hands from there. The gargoyle had said only that he had another task.

No one met them for the first half of the climb, which surprised the scarred soldier. Where were all the guards? He had heard some commotion outside, but surely at least one of the robed creatures would have remained to protect this tower.

Bakal looked around for the kender. “Rapp!”

“I’m trying to keep up, Bakal, but these steps are big!”

Despite his energy, the kender had fallen behind more than once, the high steps forcing the tiny figure to climb at twice the pace of the humans. That wouldn’t do. Bakal needed the kender up front, in case the entrance to the Wind Captain’s Chair was locked.

“Frankel! Take the lead!” Bakal slowed, allowing the man to pass. The captain reached for Rapp, intending to carry the kender under his arm if necessary.

Rapp reached for the officer’s outstretched hand, then looked past him, eyes wide. “Bakal! Behind you! He’s-”

Captain Bakal turned, but it was too late. Frankel put his foot down on a seemingly chipped step, a step that suddenly glowed brightly.

“Frankel! Get ba-”

A flash of light enveloped the lead man. One second Frankel stood in front of them, arm raised to shield his eyes. The next second the light faded, and with it, the man. No sign of the soldier remained, not even his weapon.

Magic. Black Valkyn’s magic. Bakal had yet to see the man, but he hated him. Twice now good soldiers who had taken the veteran’s place at the point had perished. Given the chance, Bakal would have been willing to pay with his life if only he could cut Valkyn to little ribbons and feed him to his pet gargoyles.

“Probably poison all of ’em,” he muttered. The officer studied the next few steps. Determined not to risk his small party, he stretched his sword over the step where Frankel had perished. When nothing happened, Bakal reached up and gently tapped the next step. Still nothing.

“From now on, each step gets tested first, and I stay at the point.” The veteran glanced at Rapp. “Keep behind me, with one step between us. Got it?”

He studied the stairs again. If he was wrong, there would be no second chance. Taking a deep breath, the captain judged the distance over the trap and leaped up.

Bakal landed squarely on the step above the trap. “All right,” he called, looking back. “Just keep your eye on me.”

A roar shook the staircase, the entire building. Bakal had to fall against the wall or risk dropping back onto the deadly step. Bits of masonry pelted the soldiers.

“What in the name of the gods was that?” someone shouted.

“Sounded like a dragon!” came the reply.

“Captain!” the first man called. “Gargoyles!”

Two of the creatures flitted through windows near the top of the staircase. In their hands they carried nets similar to the ones used on the griffons. Bakal’s heart sank. In such tight quarters, the nets would prove extremely effective.

“Gargoyles at the rear!” a soldier called.

“We’ve been trapped!” the captain snarled. Bakal kept his sword pointed at the monsters above as he gingerly leaped over the trap again.

“The gargoyle tricked us!” one of the others shouted. “He led us into this!”

Bakal doubted that. If Stone had wanted to turn them over to Valkyn, he could have done it at any time. He had even risked his own life to free Tyros. No, somehow Valkyn had discovered their plan, which meant that Tyros, too, likely walked into a trap.

More gargoyles entered from above, one of them with three horns and a malicious grin. The savage Crag.

“Here come the nets!”

The first net fell short; the second Bakal managed to shove aside with his blade. The gargoyles reached to retrieve their nets. Acting on instinct, Bakal used the sword to snag the nearest snare. Then, with his free hand, he pulled it toward him just as one of the monsters took hold of the other end.

Caught off-balance, the leathery horror rolled over once, then landed awkwardly on the step that had claimed Frankel.

The step glowed, and the flash of light enveloped the gargoyle.

“Well, that’s one down,” murmured the officer as the light faded. He waited for the creatures to try again, but now they acted with more care.

Someone bumped Bakal from behind. He looked over his shoulder. The gargoyles below pressed forward, the ones in front armed, much to the captain’s consternation, with spears. The captain and his men were being herded.

The nets came at them, this time thrown with more precision. One landed over Bakal, who sliced at it desperately. He realized instantly why the griffons had been unable to rip their way free. The nets had been interlaced with metallic thread, making them difficult to tear or cut. Given enough time, Bakal could have freed himself, but the gargoyles would not permit him that.

Cries broke out among his men. The gargoyles rushed in but instead of using their spears and claws, they began to pummel the soldiers with their fists. One man screamed, a sound that was quickly cut off. Bakal heard Rapp shout. He tried to look for the kender, but a huge hand seized the captain by the collar.

Crag flashed the captain what could only be a mocking smile. The hardened veteran paled, expecting to have his throat ripped out, but instead Crag slapped him hard across the face.

Still in the lead gargoyle’s grip, Bakal fell back, barely conscious from the vicious blow. He heard Crag’s deep, gravelly voice, sounding frustrated. “Kender! Where kender? Find kender!”

So Rapp had escaped. Bakal took no pleasure from that, wondering, just before he blacked out from pain, what a lone kender could possibly do at this point. He already knew the answer.

Nothing.